


Una Animarum

by whitedandelions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Horcruxes, M/M, No Prophecy AU, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/pseuds/whitedandelions
Summary: For each person, there’s another holding the other half of your soul.  It was foretold in the legends after all, that a soul was split into two and each half given to a human.  And they  always find one another, in each and every lifetime.  But sometimes, when a soul breaks, the connection is lost.Harry is born with the ability to see souls and their connections to one another.  In a world, ravaged by Voldemort's takeover and dictatorship, it's hard to take advantage of this ability since no one in power would ever listen to him.  But, it soon becomes evident that his ability to see souls may be the one thing to save Voldemort from his horcruxes and thus, Wizarding society as a whole from the incoming threat of the Muggles.





	Una Animarum

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Tanisha / Tangled_Up on Ao3 for betaing my work. as soon as i have some time, i'll be sure to edit it more.
> 
> THE ARTWORK IS SO GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL, YOU MUST LOOK AT THIS ART OKAY. I AM SO GRATEFUL it's 1000X MAKES MY WORK 10000X TIMES BETTER. AS SOON AS I DRIVE HOME, IMA EDIT THIS INTO THIS NOTE BETTER, BUT LOOK AT THIS BEAUTY  
> https://wolfhuntcomic.tumblr.com/post/165447350185/my-art-for-tomarrybigbang-2017-for-the-fic-una
> 
>  
> 
> I GOT SICK OR ELSE I'LL EDIT IT BETTER. ANYWAY ENJOY, I JUST GOTTA GET THIS OUT BEFORE 9/17 BECAUSE I REFUSE TO BE LATE.

 

 

“I can’t believe she’s in the library,” said Ron, as they made their way down the hall.  “The professors warned us an hour ago about _him_ visiting and Hermonie hates not listening to them.”

Harry scrunched his nose at the reminder that Voldemort was visiting and that Hogwarts was expected to act as if it was a _wonderful_ thing that he was.  He only killed most of their parents and forced their world into a dictatorship and for some reason, Voldemort thought they would just forget about it? 

Though Harry supposed that was why they were having the feast, to remind them that although Voldemort had become more lenient because of the upcoming threat of the Muggles, he would not hesitate to put them down if they even thought about rebelling.

He felt Hermonie’s soul before he saw her, and Ron was catching his soulmate easily as she ran into them as she turned the corner, leaving the library at a quick walk.   Her soul flared a brilliant red as she realized who they were, and then Harry blinked, the color fading and leaving Hermonie there, her smile sheepish.

“I didn’t notice the time,” she started, and then continued angrily, “But it’s close to _exams_ , why are we having this again?”

“Hermonie,” chided Ron, softly, his eyes darting around the hallway, but luckily it was deserted.  Probably because most of the students were in the Great Hall, eager not to get in trouble and to get on the good side of their dictator.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry, anger bleeding into his own voice, “They’ll accuse us of treason even _if_ we don’t say anything.”

Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping as he agreed with Harry.  “Let’s just go,” said Ron, defeated, and the three of them made their way to the Great Hall in despondent silence. 

It was their last school year, and it was just their luck to have Voldemort decide to grace the school with his presence this year.  If only he waited one year, then the three of them could have avoided any chance of capturing Voldemort’s interest. 

And they had a good reason for trying to stay under the radar.  Of course, seeing as Hermonie was a muggleborn, and Ron being a blood traitor, and Harry the son of parents who had defied Voldemort until he had been forced to deal with them himself, it was almost impossible to do so.

But then the Muggles had started to become a threat.  Rumors of magic were spreading quickly throughout the world, what with the invention of the ‘Internet’ and the combination of Voldemort’s minions not being discreet, and rumors had a way of becoming dangerous.  Harry didn’t believe the Muggles could be a threat and many others of the Wizarding World agreed with him.

But it was easy to see that the Muggles had made Voldemort _nervous_ for some reason, and a nervous, insane, paranoid Dark Lord did not bode well for the Wizarding World.  Tensions had run high, and Voldemort had attacked a series of Muggle towns in a fit of madness.  It had only made the situation worse.

Although the Wizengamot had been silenced pretty heavily by Voldemort’s reign, they had started to make a fuss, and Voldemort’s attention had been split between keeping up a front for the Wizarding public and dealing with the Muggles quietly and efficiently.

And surprisingly, this mess that Voldemort had to deal with kept him from sticking his nose, or lack of one as Harry thought pettily, into Hogwarts’ business.  If he hadn’t, he was sure their time at Hogwarts would have been even more brutal.  It was bad enough that almost all the school ignored the Gryffindors, and that Headmaster Snape seemed to have it out for Harry especially; if Voldemort had more free time, Harry was sure they would have been tortured even more than they already were.

And if they got out of this mess alive and without catching Voldemort’s attention, they could look into rumors of a group that was trying to defy Voldemort.  The rumors could lead them nowhere, but at least they had a glimmer of hope in their depressing life. 

If only Dumbledore hadn’t died.  If only most of the adult members of the Order of Phoenix hadn’t died…but unfortunately, they had, and they only had the children of them left to take up their cause.

If only Voldemort wasn’t the insane dictator he was…

He was distracted out of his thoughts as they reached the Great Hall, the whispering of souls intense and Harry’s head flaring in brief pain as he clenched his eyes shut, taking a deep breath to get used to the immense amount of people.  Usually, Harry was able to be around crowds without much trouble, but _this_ was a horrible mixture of excitement and fear, a distinct dichotomy between the favored students and the unfavored.

Hermonie took his hand into hers, as she always did when she noticed him in pain, and when he opened his eyes, he shared a grateful smile with her and let his two best friends lead him into the Great Hall. 

Voldemort still wasn’t there, thankfully, and they took their customary seats at the Gryffindor table.

The whole of the table was subdued, most of them not at all looking forward to Voldemort’s visit.  He shared solemn greetings with most of his housemates, and then nervously picked at the bread that had been left on the table to abate students’ hunger as they waited for Voldemort to make his grand entrance.

He knew when Voldemort had arrived, because there was a sharp spike of anxiousness in the room, and then he was seeing only a flurry of colors wherever he glanced, the emotions taking the place of the students.

Voldemort was finally here.  And he wasn’t alone. 

Intense magical power flooded the Great Hall as soon as the doors opened, causing the air to feel oppressive.  Harry nearly choked at the feeling, grimacing as he tried his best to not look at the entrance of the Great Hall to avoid looking at Voldemort, but then one voice was heard above the others, loud and insistent, and drowning out the initial whisperings of the other students.

He didn’t recognize this whisper and dread filled his heart because deep down inside, he knew why.

This soul’s voice was almost as if the soul itself was shrieking, begging for help and demanding it all at once.  As if it couldn’t make up its mind.

As if it was too shattered to do so.

Harry had seen his fair share of broken souls.  He used to see them in Vernon Dursley’s business partners, see the way that work had made them into mere husks of themselves.  And while they were broken, barely able to reach out a tendril to the surrounding souls, they didn’t make sounds like this.

Because there was no other word to describe it but desperate. 

He felt his eyes drawn to it against his will; he couldn’t ignore it for long especially since it seemed to draw closer and closer.

It was like a nightmare.

Harry had never imagined a soul could be ruined like this.

The soul _was_ in pieces.  It was torn and ripped and there were even scraps of the wizard’s soul flying around the wreck.  The scraps were an intense black, so black that one could lose himself in the absence of color. And the screaming was horrifying, causing Harry’s heartbeat to quicken and his head to start pounding. 

And as he stared at it longer, he knew exactly whose soul this was.  This _had_ to be Voldemort’s, because he could sense the magical power emanating from the broken soul.  It couldn’t keep it within with the way the soul had been torn about, and the magic emanated was dark and disgusting. 

He had never been affected like this though.  Usually, if he concentrated hard enough, he could ignore the way souls garnered for his attention.  He could keep the color and lights at bay, and sometimes keep the whispering to a minimum.  Of course, this would only work if the souls’ thoughts weren’t directed to him.

But this?  He was already starting to make out the whispers’ words, understanding how the soul was begging for help.  

He swore his heart stopped beating.  His breath came out short and wheezy as his eyes caught onto why this was happening.

A person’s soul was only half of a whole piece.  They weren’t complete until they found the other half.  When they did, they were perfect for each other.  Soulmates.  After all, who could understand you but your other half?  But there was no sure way to tell.  Even wizards, with their vast knowledge of magic, had no idea how to tell.  Souls were a mystery even to magic.  Although it was rumored that the same soul shared certain magical talents.

Harry had taken pity throughout his seven years of Hogwarts.  He was a romantic at heart; he couldn’t help pushing students together if he knew they were meant to be.  He was largely the reason Hermonie and Ron were together now (though this was mostly borne out of necessity because Harry just could not listen to the two of them bicker any longer.)

Harry had always had a special place in his heart for the other wizard that was meant to be his other half.  He had daydreams that the person would understand him.  Would love him for who he was and all that cheesy, romantic stuff.  He _always_ believed that his ability to see souls was linked to his soulmate, and he had always thought it was because his soulmate would have the most beautiful soul in the world, yet have some outwardly trait that would have stopped him from looking at him or her and knowing that was his soulmate.

But apparently, it was the furthest thing from what was happening.

Because first, his soulmate was _Voldemort,_ the Darkest wizard of them all and his greatest enemy, and secondly, the soul in front of him, the other half of his soul, was completely torn apart.  Wrecked and ripped and swirling like a storm.

Harry didn’t even register getting out of his seat.  He dimly heard Hermonie pleading for him to sit back down, but he didn’t listen.  Instead, he walked in a daze toward the storm in front of him, waiting and hoping fiercely for the cacophony to go down. 

Maybe just being around the other half would be enough to fix it?

But the whispering just rose to a fever pitch, until it became a shout.

He whimpered, one hand going to his temple as he tried his best to breathe. 

The storm stopped in front of him, and Harry froze, his eyes frantically trying to find the man behind it all.  Even though he knew already what Voldemort looked like.  A ghastly vision of a man.

“Sit back down, Potter,” hissed another voice, but Harry paid it no mind, all his attention focused on the screaming soul in front of him.  He could barely hear the frustrated wizard over the screaming anyway.

“Your soul,” he whispered, “it’s broken.”

And he truly intended to offer his help to fix it, but the soul basically _tackled_ him.

It was consuming him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

“Till death do us part,” murmured the wizard in front of him.  He was insanely attractive, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut and curly locks styled perfectly.  His warm, brown eyes stared out of a figure that was lithe and muscular at the same time.  He brought Harry’s hand up to his lips, and kissed them, caressing the back of his right hand with obvious affection.

Harry lifted his own arm against his will, his hand going to cup the wizard’s cheek.

Harry never had any will in these dreams, and he had these dreams almost every night.  He had always believed the other man to be his soulmate.

Obviously, this was not true since his soulmate was _Voldemort_.

“Till death do us part,” Harry said in response.  He drew his sword next, the blade gleaming from its sharpening.  It glittered in the grand room the two of them were in, obviously in the throne room of a beautiful castle.

The other wizard held his wand in front of him, the two of them back to back as the sounds from outside started to drift in.

Shouting could be heard from outside, and the sounds of battle, and then the door was being blasted open from the other side.

The warmth of the wizard next to him was the last thing Harry remembered before he woke.

* * *

He was in the infirmary.  Harry had only visited the place once or twice, usually to get rid of the common cold.  But he couldn’t ever forget the coldness of its walls.

He had fainted, hadn’t he?  It would make sense.  The soul couldn’t harm him, so to anyone else, it would have been quite a ridiculous sight.

Him, confronting their leader and fainting in the same moment.  He flushed in embarrassment as he thought back on it, and lifted his hands to cover his face.

“You caused quite a fright, Potter,” sneered a voice, and Harry paused, every part of him not wanting to open his eyes and uncover his face.  Because that voice belonged to Headmaster Snape and Harry could not think of a person he wanted to see _less_ than him.  But it made sense, Headmaster Snape wouldn’t allow Hermonie and Ron into the infirmary to see him, heartless as he was.

“I know you’re awake, _Potter_ ,” continued the man, “and if you’re awake, someone wants to talk to you.”

 _Voldemort_.

He rather be asleep than to recount the event that had just happened.  Snape would have to levitate him with _magic_ to get him out of here.

Which in hindsight, Snape would have no problems doing.  Snape hated him, after all, and to send him off to Voldemort would be a dream come true to him.  He wouldn’t balk at forcing Harry to get up.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” he asked, his voice still muffled behind his hands, and he heard Snape sigh, long and suffering.

“What possessed you to confront the Dark Lord in front of everyone?”  His voice was scathing.  “Are you touched in the head, Potter?”

That fueled him with enough anger to sit up, glaring at the older wizard.  But he didn’t want to explain himself; he didn’t even know _how_ to explain himself.  He had kept this skill hidden for so long, and he really didn’t want Snape to be the first person he told. 

Snape tired of his silence eventually, waving his wand and levitating Harry’s robes over.  He must also not want to talk to Harry, and since Harry didn’t want to talk to him, they remained in silence. 

There was no screaming this time.  When they approached the Headmaster’s office, it was blissfully silent.  He wondered if this meant that Voldemort’s soul was no longer in torment.

Voldemort’s face was ghastly up close.  Harry had never had the opportunity to see it in so much detail before.  He had never visited Hogwarts in the time Harry had been there for Voldemort was far too busy with ruling over the Ministry to worry about the school.  He left Snape in charge of that.

Still, there was no denying the pure magical power that encompassed the office.  It was intoxicating, and Harry felt light-headed in the presence of it.  It made his heartbeat quicken and his breaths shallow and he wondered briefly just how _anyone_ got any work done in the wizard’s presence. 

Voldemort’s soul was quiet, but Harry could still see the tears in it.  It was still ripped apart and made up of tattered blackness, and Harry averted his eyes, his own heart hurting at the sight. 

He couldn’t believe this was his soulmate.

After spending the whole of his life _hating_ this man, after making plans upon plans of usurping him, and it turned out, Harry was expected to _love_ him?  That they were meant to be together?  That for some reason, Harry, who belonged to the lowest social class in Voldemort’s world because of his parents’ treason, was soulmate to the _leader_ of this world.  Even if he was a dictator, and insane, the difference in their social standing was staggering. 

He was supposed to have stayed insignificant until they graduated, to not catch Voldemort’s attention until it was too late for Voldemort to do anything.

And yet, here he was.  Standing in front of Voldemort without a single idea of how to explain how he was able to see Voldemort’s soul. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t expel you right now, Harry Potter.”  Voldemort’s expression didn’t change even as he drawled out the words. 

Harry flinched and he clenched his fists tight by his side.  He didn’t know how to respond, and some part of him wondered idly if telling Voldemort about how their souls matched would be the way to go.  But he would be under even more scrutiny if he did so, and besides, Voldemort would never believe him.

Surprisingly, Snape came to his rescue.  “The students already think Potter to be a laughingstock,” said Snape, causing Harry to flinch once more, “There is no reason for expulsion.  He can join me for detention, instead.”

There was a silence after Snape’s words, Voldemort leaning back in the Headmaster’s chair and regarding Snape thoughtfully. 

He must be wondering why Snape was helping him.  After all, he must know that Snape hated Harry.

The serpentine red eyes eventually traveled to look at Harry, the Dark Lord’s lips pursed in a thoughtful frown.  “Perhaps that would be sufficient.” 

Harry couldn’t stop his gasp at the thought of the Dark Lord showing _mercy_ , and then the Dark Lord leaned forward, resting his weight on his crossed arms on the desk.  “If you tell me exactly why you think my soul is broken.”

“Sir,” interrupted Snape, “his parents were of the Light.  Potter is the exact replication of his father; he’s grown up on stories of your cruelty.”

“Severus,” hissed Voldemort, and there was a look of brief annoyance on his face.  “Let the boy speak.”

“I can see souls,” he blurted out before he could think more on it.  There was a scoff of disbelief from Snape immediately, but Voldemort looked intrigued.

“Oh?” humored the Dark Lord, and it sent shivers down Harry’s spine to see the way his lips curled into a smile.  “And my soul looks broken to you, then.”

He hesitated, not knowing how far he should go with this.  He didn’t want to make Voldemort even angrier. 

“Go on,” said Voldemort, and now it was evident he was amused.  “What does it look like?”

There was embarrassment curling in his stomach.  He couldn’t meet Voldemort’s gaze, and he whispered the next words.  “Like it’s been ripped apart, as if broken into pieces…”

“Pieces?” repeated Voldemort, his voice sharp.  There was no more trace of amusement in his voice.

“And it’s black,” he continued, “as black as the abyss.  I’ve never seen anyone with a soul quite like yours…”

The air felt electric as Harry raised his eyes to look at Voldemort; the intensity of those red eyes burned as Voldemort started straight back at him.  He didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look enraged either.  It was hard to tell what the Dark Lord was thinking.

Laughter interrupted the moment, and Harry shook a bit as he tore his gaze away.  Snape was shaking his head next to him, “You can’t possibly believe this student, my Lord?”

Voldemort was silent for a long moment, and Harry knew he was looking straight at him.  He could feel the intensity from the gaze still, even without sight.

Then there was a soft sigh, and Voldemort waved his hand.  “Fine, two weeks of detention with Severus will do.”

“You don’t believe me,” he said, but he was interrupted from saying anymore when Snape gripped his upper arm tightly.

“Apologize, Potter,” said Snape.

“No need,” said Voldemort, “I am sure Potter knows just where he had wronged me, already.  Do make sure detention is sufficient to knock some sense into the wizard, Severus.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Snape, bowing his head and jerking Harry back toward the door in the same moment.

“And Severus?  Report back to me once you’ve seen our dear student back to the Infirmary.”

Snape bowed once more, forcing Harry to bow as well. 

Voldemort’s gaze didn’t leave his until the door swung shut.

* * *

Detention was brutal.

Snape had been too angry to talk to him on their walk back to the Infirmary, and had obviously decided to work out his ire during Harry’s detention. 

The amount of cauldrons Harry had to scrub out had been appalling.  Harry hadn’t finished, and had only been let go because Snape had wanted to retire for the night. 

After all, Snape had drawled, he had two more weeks to finish scrubbing the cauldrons.

Harry had bristled, but had wisely kept his mouth shut. 

His hands hurt, and his legs felt numb from sitting so long.  As such, it felt good to wander the hallways for a bit as he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower. 

His head was in such a daze that it took him a while to hear the crooning.  He jolted to a stop, his eyes clenched shut as he processed the sound.  It didn’t sound anything like the screaming from a few days ago, but for some reason, it reminded him strongly of _Voldemort_. 

He stood still for only a few more seconds before he abruptly turned, walking directly toward the source.  It may be a trap from Voldemort, it may be dangerous to follow blindly, but he couldn’t resist the pull.  And yet, even though it felt like it was against his will, he wasn’t scared.  It felt right to follow the sound.

And after the past day of feeling so _wrong_ after Voldemort hadn’t believed him, Harry would do anything that felt even remotely right.

He nearly tripped on the stairs in his haste to follow the voice, and it was only by clutching onto the stair railing that he was able to stay upright.  Hogwarts seemed to take pity on him and he watched in surprise as the staircase turned to link to the correct floor he needed. 

Perhaps Hogwarts could also sense the crooning.

He didn’t waste any more time, taking the rest of the stairs in large steps.  He jumped the rest, landing gracefully and immediately fast walking toward his destination.

And then promptly wasted ten minutes staring at where the voice was the loudest.  Because it was a blank wall, there was no doorway, no window, _nothing_ that could tell him what exactly was on the other side.  But when he placed his hand onto the wall, he could feel the magical power emanating from it, and each time he did, the crooning got even higher.

He stood there, wracking his mind for some way to get through, going over everything he had learned in his years at Hogwarts.  He cursed his missing memory, knowing that his short stay in Hogwarts was probably what was holding him back now.  He didn’t know the lore of the school.  There may be a hidden passageway here, and he had no way to find out.

In his anxiousness, Harry started to pace the hallway, thinking frantically of how to get to the source of the voice.

After his nth time through the hallway, a door suddenly materialized.  The ‘door’ was made up out of two, and was massive, taking up the wall in front of him.  He only had a second to stare at it, before the crooning got even more intense, nearly making him double over from the sheer loudness.  He was throwing the door open a second later, closing it almost as an afterthought after him.

The room was a mess in front of him.  There were all kinds of things piled up, but Harry didn’t have time to look closely.  His feet seemed as if to move on its own, calling him directly toward the back.

He was staring at the bust of an elderly gentlemen, and his hands reached out before he could stop himself.  There, resting on the crown of the bust, was a beautiful diadem.  It had exquisite jewels on it – or at least he assumed it would.  Because Voldemort’s soul was clinging onto it – and while Harry could see remnants of the black that belonged to his soulmate, it was overwhelmingly white.  Pure. 

It was ripped, just like Voldemort’s, but it wasn’t shrieking.  And it wasn’t coiling away as he reached for it; instead, the white mass was extending a tendril toward his hand.  When it wrapped around his wrist, tears started to spill down his cheeks, overcoming Harry with emotion.

 _This_ was his soulmate’s soul.  It was pure, but Voldemort was anything but pure.  It didn’t make sense, but Harry knew with his whole heart that this was Voldemort. 

Almost as if in a trance, Harry lifted the diadem off the bust, and fixed it onto his own head.  It wasn’t tight and would have probably fallen off with any movement considering the diadem wasn’t made for males, but the soul clung onto him, recognizing Harry’s soul as its other half.

Harry buried his face into his hands when the soul residing in the diadem let go of him, content to latch onto Harry’s hair instead.  It was crying – the soul was begging him for help and Harry wasn’t ever going to say no.

And at the moment, as the other half of his soul was begging for help, Harry realized what he could do.

This was proof that he could _fix_ Voldemort.  They were soulmates. 

And even if Harry hated the wizard, and wanted nothing more than to overthrow him, this was the only way he could do something.

If he didn’t take advantage of this, if he didn’t use his connection to Voldemort to save his world, then he wasn’t a Gryffindor.

After all, only a Gryffindor would believe he could seduce the Dictator of the Wizarding World. 

And right now, there was only one course of action.

Get the diadem to Voldemort.

Because it belonged to him.  He must know what it was.

He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, and then made his way out of the room.  When he exited, the door disappeared, leaving the hallway just a hallway once again.

He squinted at the wall, wondering just what he had stumbled upon, but figured he could ask Voldemort when he found him.

But Voldemort had left Hogwarts last night.  The only link he had to Hogwarts was the Dark Lord’s inner circle, and only Bellatrix and Snape remained.  And while he _hated_ Snape with a passion, at least he knew Snape wouldn’t kill him like Bellatrix might.

And besides, he knew where Snape was currently.  Snape might actually kill him for waking him up…

But he had to get to Voldemort as soon as possible, so he swallowed his anxieties and made his way toward the Headmaster’s office.

The password was the same from when he had visited the other day, and when he got to the entrance, he pulled out his wand, casting a sonorous and then knocking loudly on the wooden doors.

He had only been knocking for a minute before the door flew open, Snape’s irate face greeting him behind the doors.

“Potter, do you have any idea what time it is?”  He fell silent after his shout, staring at him with shock in his expression.  “Is that Ravenclaw’s diadem?  Where’d you find it?”

“I need to see Voldemort,” he said, instead of explaining himself, and Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you crazy?  He’s the leader of the Wizarding World, he has more important matters than dealing with your whims, Potter.  And besides, you just got off light, what makes you think facing him again will turn out well for you?”

Snape was shaking.  If Harry hadn’t seen Snape angry multiple times during the year, he would have thought it was of anger.  But it wasn’t.  Snape was nervous.

But Voldemort was the Dark Lord.  It made sense that Snape wouldn’t want to call him back to Hogwarts.

Harry wasn’t worried.  Voldemort wouldn’t hurt him.

“He won’t hurt me,” he said, “Not when I have this.”  He paused, gesturing up at the diadem.

“Are you going to use it as some bartering tool?” asked Snape, his voice lower and calmer.  “While He would gladly take it, it won’t be enough to stop him for punishing you for summoning him.”

“His soul’s in it,” he snapped, angrily, and watched as Snape froze.

“Then you weren’t lying about seeing souls,” murmured Snape thoughtfully, and although Snape was looking right at him, his gaze was unfocused.  “Give it to me, Potter.”

“What?” he said, and then sharper, “No.  It belongs to _him_.”

“I’ll give it to him, Potter, don’t be obtuse,” said Snape, his teeth gritted, and Harry just knew the git was lying.

“No,” he said, again, and Snape sighed, the sound long and suffering.

“Potter, despite what your idiotic brain thinks, I am trying to protect you here.  Do you really think the Dark Lord will let you live after he sees you with that?”

It only took a second for what Snape had said to sink in, and he couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped him.  “You know what this is.  That’s why you want it.”

He didn’t know why he was so horrified.  The Dark Lord didn’t exactly inspire loyalty from his followers; in fact, Bellatrix was the only one to follow Voldemort without question and she was _insane_.

But still, the thought of Snape destroying his soulmate’s soul was enough to make his stomach churn.  He hated Voldemort really, but deep down inside, he knew he could fix Voldemort’s soul if he was given the chance.  And he didn’t trust Snape, at all.

But Snape was still Headmaster, and a more accomplished wizard than him.  When Snape cast a quick petrifying spell, Harry wasn’t surprised, but he _was_ surprised when Snape couldn’t take the diadem.  He felt a spike in his heartbeat when he realized that Snape couldn’t take it because the soul was clinging onto him.  The diadem was sentient.

Snape stared at it in horror, and then worry quickly cast over his face.  “Listen carefully, Potter,” snapped Snape, “this _thing_ is sucking at your soul.  I don’t know or care why you decided to protect him, but this is dark magic.”

When Snape cast the counterspell, Harry took an immediate step back, glaring up at the Headmaster.  He didn’t know why Snape wanted to protect him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use it to his advantage.  He kept the knowledge that the diadem was definitely _not_ sucking away at his soul, because one, Harry could see souls and being as he was intimately more familiar with them, he was aptly more familiar with soul magic than Snape, and put on his best worried expression.  “Then there’s only one way to get it off, right?” he said, “Before it sucks my soul away, I mean.”

Snape’s expression was sour.  He lifted his sleeve, the Dark Mark fascinating to see against the stark paleness of his forearm.  It writhed underneath their gazes, and Snape pressed his wand to the mark.  He immediately staggered to his knees, pain obviously being wracked through his body.

There was a crack in the air, and then the Dark Lord was there, a murderous expression on his face.  He only had eyes for the Headmaster, and it was only Snape turning to look at him that he stopped on his warpath. 

Voldemort froze when his gaze landed on Harry, his mouth falling open and his wand nearly falling from his grip as his hand went slack.  He looked even paler than usual, though Harry wasn’t sure if it was from the dim light of the hallway outside the Headmaster’s office or if the Dark Lord actually had emotions.  There was a pregnant silence in the air, and Harry felt confident in meeting the Dark Lord’s gaze straight on.

“What is this?” Voldemort practically hissed, danger dropping from every word.  “Severus?  I thought you were to keep a better eye on Potter.” 

Snape didn’t seem to know how to respond, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a response, not expecting to see Voldemort so angry. 

Voldemort was impatient though, and snapped a quick _Cruciatus_ curse.  Snape’s screams filled the hallway a second later. 

Harry watched in horror as Voldemort’s soul seemed to morph right in front of him, the calm black mass starting to writhe as its owner held Snape under the cruse.  He was sure he was shaking again, but when he moved forward, Voldemort’s attention seemed to snap to him, his lips pursed into a frown.

“What’s stopping me from putting you under the same punishment?” asked Voldemort, but he still seemed thrown as he continued to stare at the top of Harry’s head. 

“Please,” he said, “stop torturing him.”

There was a pause, and then Voldemort laughed, “I wasn’t aware you cared for your headmaster.”

“It’s tearing your soul apart,” he pleaded.  At his words, Voldemort abruptly lifted the curse, Snape collapsing onto the ground with gasping breaths.  Harry didn’t wait for Voldemort; he immediately knelt at Snape’s side, his hand on the wizard’s back to help him sit up. 

Snape didn’t push him away, surprisingly, and Harry stared at the way Snape’s soul, almost as green as his own, seemed to perk up at his touch. 

“Severus,” said Voldemort, calmly, “Go to Madam Pomfrey.”

Snape stared at Voldemort in thinly disguised shock, before he shakily got to his feet with Harry’s help, nodding instead of bowing because of how much the dark curse had affected him.  He seemed reluctant to leave Harry’s side, but with Voldemort throwing out Unforgivables easily, Snape knew better to stay.

“Come,” said Voldemort, his voice significantly calmer, and Harry obediently followed the Dark Lord into the Headmaster’s office.

“That wasn’t right,” he said, when silence had reigned on for more than a minute.  “You shouldn’t use magic like that.”

Voldemort laughed at his words, leaning back against the Headmaster’s desk.  “I should have believed you when you said you could see souls, shouldn’t I have?”

He seemed amused, a far cry from how he looked when he first arrived.  Harry wondered what made him change or if the Dark Lord was just putting on a façade. 

“I’ll like my Horcrux back now,” Voldemort said, patiently. 

The word made his head pang uncomfortably, and he nearly fell, the pain increasing as his mind tried to figure out where he had heard the name before.  Surprisingly, Voldemort caught him as he staggered forward, Harry intent to give the Dark Lord back his soul.  The diadem didn’t fall off.

Voldemort caught his chin in a tight grip.  He angled Harry’s face upward, his red eyes peering into Harry’s.  “Very curious,” he said, “It’s almost as if it wants to stay with you…”

And in a whisper, “ _Legilimens.”_

It was easy for Voldemort to break past his defenses – simply because Harry only knew the basics.  He never learned Occlumency and he had never thought he had to. 

He felt weak in Voldemort’s arms when he was finally released from the prison, and he stared upward at the ceiling as he tried his best to regain his composure.  He had made a mistake by being so defenseless around the Dark Lord,

As such, he was completely unprepared for the way Voldemort’s lips descended on his.  He yelped, but Voldemort held firm, his rough lips pressing against Harry’s in an imitation of a lover’s kiss.

And although it had been a surprise, Harry found himself melting under it, his soul purring at the thought that he was so close to the other half.  Even as his soul purred, his heart recoiled because this was _Voldemort._ It was one thing to decide to seduce the Dark Lord, and another to find that the seduction had worked a little too well. 

He tried to break away, and surprisingly, Voldemort let him.  He stared at Voldemort in shock, panting as he realized one thing.

Voldemort had taken the diadem. 

“I guess we are soul mates,” said Voldemort, a smug grin on his face, and then a flash of red light was heading directly toward Harry.

The git stupefied him.

* * *

When he woke, it was in a room without outside light. The place was dreary, with only a lamp to show the way. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but it took longer for his brain to catch up with the events that had led him to where he was now.

Dread hit him as he realized that Voldemort had betrayed him. And then embarrassment, as he touched his lips with a finger.

Voldemort had kissed him. And had agreed that Harry was his soul mate.

But it had only been because he had wanted to take the diadem from him. The diadem had refused to let go of him, and the only way Voldemort had seen was to....kiss him. Which didn't make sense, in retrospect, because Voldemort probably had a plethora of ways to remove the diadem from him. And yet, he had chosen to shock Harry by kissing him.

He wrapped his arms around his legs, his knees pressed up against his chest. He had a feeling that Voldemort was going to kill him. He knew too much, after all, and if the fact that the diadem contained Voldemort's soul got out, many of the wizard's enemies may use it to take over the wizarding world.

Voldemort may be the leader now, but it was only by conquest. He had many dissenters, and it only took one sign of weakness to have them try to wrestle control from him.

There was no reason for Voldemort to keep him alive. And it was obvious that Voldemort thought the same, because he had ended up in here. Isolated off from everyone and his wand missing. There was only one way this was going to end.

In his death.

He felt numb, and stupid for crying so much in one day. The diadem had overwhelmed his emotions earlier, and now, when the only thing awaiting him was death, the fear got to him, causing fat tears to spill down his cheeks.

He wasn't bawling or sobbing; the tears seemed to come despite the fact he wasn't panting or dry heaving. It was as if it was an involuntary action by his body, and he tried his best to calm down.

He wasn't a weak crybaby who would break down every time something didn't go his way. He was better than this. Even _if_ Voldemort had trapped him down here, it didn't mean he had to accept defeat. After all, he already knew it wasn't as if Voldemort knew everything in the world - the wizard had ripped apart his soul and put it in inanimate objects. If Voldemort was insane enough to do that, maybe there were some holes in his plan to keep Harry imprisoned.

He was almost done deluding himself into thinking that Voldemort was a shade of his former self when he sensed magic in the room. Panic spiked in his heart; he was convinced that Voldemort was going to come kill him and the magical power filling the room was very reminiscent of his soulmate.

And then he stared, his mouth agape as he looked up.

The light was dim, but there was no mistaking the wizard in front of him. The cheekbones, the tousled brown hair, the sharp smile...

This was the wizard he thought to be his soulmate.

The wizard he had seen not too long ago in his dreams.

"Till death do us part," he greeted, his voice shaky, and the wizard stared at him, shock clearly written into his features.

"Excuse me?" asked the wizard, as if he thought Harry to be particularly daft, and then paused, bending down to study Harry's face. "I fear I may have taken too long to come back to you."

His heart was beating uncontrollably. He wondered if he was still dreaming, or if the wizard he was seeing in front of him was real. But he was still in control of his actions, and this felt like present time. Not a memory.

"How did you find me?" he asked, instead. "I've been having dreams of you for so long."

"How?" the word escaped from the wizard's mouth before he could stop himself, almost torn out of him in his incredulity. "Because I was the one who put you here."

He stared, because his words didn't make sense, and the wizard hummed, settling down rather gracefully on the dirty floor in front of him. "But you've been having dreams, you say. Have you found the diary, then?"

Everything the wizard was saying didn't make sense. This was the wizard he had been dreaming of for the past year. In different scenarios, different _thems_ , and yet they were always deeply and irrevocably in love.

But they weren't soul mates - he had to remember that. His soul mate was Voldemort and this insanely attractive wizard was just a product of his wildest imaginations.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Think, Harry," said the wizard. "You know who I am."

He stared, and then started. The wizard in front of him didn't - he couldn't ...

"I can't see your soul," he said, helplessly, and the wizard nodded.

"I'm your soul mate, Harry. You're the other half of my soul. Or," he grimaced, "I own a small percentage of that half."

The words took a while to make sense to him, what with his heightened state of emotions, and when it did, he gasped. The wizard looked amused as Harry started to breathe harder out of his panic, and then worry overtook him, and he took Harry into his arms.

"Breathe," he commanded, and then pressed Harry's head to his chest. The calm heartbeat did wonders on calming him down, and he obediently obeyed, breathing with every beat. But each time he thought calmed down, panic set in again as he came to new realizations with every passing minute.

The wizard he had been dreaming of for the past year...was Voldemort. Voldemort's _horcrux._

And he had mentioned a diary. Voldemort had already - stupidly - put his soul into a shiny, sparkly headpiece, why wouldn't a common journal appeal to him? Of course his soul mate would be the crazy one who thought splitting his soul into _pieces_ was a good idea. And Harry was pretty sure that this soul splitting was the very reason Voldemort's soul was the mess it was.

"Why are you so _insane_ ," he said, pulling away, and Voldemort's horcrux chuckled at his words, his smile sharp.

"He owns half of your soul, Harry," he pointed out. "If he's insane, what are you?"

"The sane part," he said, petulantly, but he sobered up a second later, realizing this wasn't the time to make jokes. "Are you here to rescue me?"

The horcrux looked abashed. "Unfortunately, I don't have enough power to do that. It had been hard enough to get down here with what limited power I got."

"Down...?" he puzzled out, pursing his lips. "Then this is the basement..."

"It's a secret room," explained the diadem, patiently. "Underneath the Malfoy's drawing room."

"The git," he groused, "He's locked me away, then? How is he going to explain my disappearance to Hogwarts?"

"He's the leader of the wizarding world, pet," said the horcrux, flatly. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't have to explain anything to anyone.”

Harry colored at the nickname the horcrux had given him, but pressed on, realizing that the horcrux was probably right.  Harry missing wouldn’t be any cause of concern.  “How many of you are there?” he asked, quietly, and the horcrux sighed.

“Six,” he said.  “All hidden.  Even now…I don’t know where he’s put me.  But with you, we may be able to find them.  _You_ could hear me.”

Harry nodded slowly, thinking back on how the diadem’s voice had crooned in his mind near the seventh floor.  Even now, remembering the pure, shimmery white of Voldemort’s undamaged soul was enough to bring a smile to his face.  “What will happen after we find them?”

“I don’t know,” admitted the diadem, honestly.  “But I think you may be the key.  Since you are our other half, maybe you can save us.”

“The ripped piece,” he murmured, the pieces clicking together.  “The black abyss,” he said, “Maybe I can put the seven of you back together.”

The horcrux nodded, and then made a dismayed sound, holding his hand up so Harry could see it.  It was fading, and as Harry watched, the rest of the horcrux’s body seemed to follow.

“Looks like my power’s running out,” said the diadem, softly, and before Harry could react, he leaned forward. 

The diadem disappeared, the only thing left was the imprint of his lips on Harry’s cheek.

* * *

He had been in the prison for three days now.

Draco Malfoy had come at the end of every day, dropping off enough food and water to sustain him.  Harry tried to talk to Malfoy at first, but Malfoy had averted his eyes and departed as soon as possible.  It had bothered him for a bit, and only furthered his theory that Voldemort was planning to execute him. 

But then again, why keep him alive at all?

There were too many questions to answer that Harry knew he would have to wait for Voldemort.  Or the diadem. 

He worried endlessly about him.  He knew logically that the diadem was alright and had just disappeared because it had run out of magic, but at the same time, the way the diadem had just faded away worried him.  He hoped he was alright.

Even if Harry currently hated Voldemort.  He had to remind himself that Voldemort was a dark lord for a reason.

Almost as if his thoughts had summoned him, there were footsteps above him.  When the door swung open, Voldemort was standing there in front of the grimy bars, his arms crossed in front of his chest.  Even with the dim lighting, Harry could still see the way Voldemort’s eyes seemed to pierce him in their intensity.

“Finally come to kill me?” he taunted, and Voldemort chuckled, the sound echoing through the room.

“And why would I do that?” He paused, kicking lightly at the tray of food sitting innocently in front of the prison.  “Why haven’t you eaten anything?  I haven’t been sending the Malfoy spawn down here to feed you just for you to die of starvation, pet.”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” he snarled.

“Ah,” said Voldemort, understanding coloring his tone, “Are you angry because I left you down here for so long?”

Harry glared at the wizard in response.  Voldemort grinned, his pale lips revealing sharp teeth.

“I had the hide the diadem, you see,” he explained, shockingly honest, and Voldemort reached a hand forward, the bars disappearing at his touch. 

Harry scrambled backward as soon as he realized Voldemort was approaching him, and when he stood in his haste, he nearly fell, the light-headedness hitting him.  Voldemort was there in seconds, his hand gripping Harry’s elbow to keep him upright.

“You fool,” hissed the Dark Lord.  “You’ll die if you refuse to drink water.”

“You might have poisoned it,” he weakly protested, and Voldemort actually sighed. 

“I would never use such a cowardly way to kill someone,” said Voldemort.  He hummed, and then smiled, holding out Harry’s wand, handle first.  He waved, and then the cup that had been sitting near the small waterfall came flying toward them. 

He could take the wand and then use it against Voldemort and try to escape.  He knew he could – and it might not be successful, but at least he won’t go down without a fight.  But his throat ached at the sight of the cup, and he already felt dizzy enough that it _hurt_ to stand. 

He took the wand with shaky fingers, and then tried to cast Aguamenti into the cup.  His magic was drained though, from lack of food and water and sleep altogether, and he bit his lip hard as he stared at the way the water was still empty.  Voldemort took his hand into his, and magic flowed into him, water flowing freely into the cup.

Harry didn’t waste time in downing it, and when he glanced back up, Voldemort looked smug.

Harry stared at the wand in his hand, wondering what kind of message he had shown to Voldemort by deciding to go for water instead of attacking Voldemort.

“Don’t fret, pet,” said Voldemort, calmly, “I already know you think us soul mates.  I trust you not to try to fight me.”

“I could,” he said, just to be contrary.

“You could,” humored Voldemort.  “Now, let’s get some food in you.”

“I don’t trust you,” he said, as Voldemort took his hand into his.  “Why are you keeping me alive?”

“Many reasons,” said Voldemort.  “The first being you are to be my consort.”

He stopped walking, his heart beating fast as he stared in shock at the smug Dark Lord.  Voldemort had expected him to stop, and he was holding Harry’s right hand in a delicate hold. 

“Do you need me to get down on one knee?” asked Voldemort, the sarcasm clear to hear in his voice, and Harry couldn’t find his voice for a bit.

“I thought you were going to kill me,” he said, instead of addressing Voldemort’s words, and Voldemort laughed.

“That can still be arranged, pet.”

He could hear the threat in Voldemort’s words.  If he said no, if he refused to be Voldemort’s consort, he would be killed. 

“But we’re soul mates,” continued Voldemort, “and you shouldn’t have any objections, Harry.  We’re meant to be.”

Voldemort obviously didn’t believe a single thing he was saying. 

And Harry didn’t know if he was going to survive being Voldemort’s consort.  He didn’t know what Voldemort wanted from him and he didn’t know if he was signing his soul to the devil by agreeing.

But he needed more time.  The diadem and he could find the rest of the horcruxes, and perhaps then, he could fix the abyss that resided in Voldemort.  Maybe then, his soul mate would be normal.  Sane.

He was staring at the black abyss when he finally nodded, and he watched in horror as the soul whirled around in obvious delight.

* * *

Becoming Voldemort’s consort wasn’t what he expected.

They didn’t sleep in the same room, foremost.  That had been what worried Harry the most.  The rumors that Voldemort took young partners to bed were rampant, especially with the way Voldemort had conquered the Wizarding Society.

No one believed anything good of Voldemort.  These rumors only fed more credence to Voldemort’s evil reputation.

As such, when they had ended their dinner, Harry had expected to be dragged to Voldemort’s room.  And was surprised when instead of doing so, he had been led to the room next door.  There were no wards.  No tracking spells as far as he could tell.  Even his wand had been given back to him.

But Harry knew it wasn’t trust.  Voldemort didn’t trust him just because of the possibility that they would be soul mates.  Voldemort might be insane, but he wasn’t stupid.

No, Harry was given his wand because Voldemort didn’t deem him a threat.  And if Harry ran, Voldemort wouldn’t care.

He sat down heavily on the comfortable bed, his mind racing.  He had no clue why Voldemort wanted him to be his consort.  And even now, when he had been given time to think more on it, he couldn’t even begin to think up any ideas.

But he had more pressing things to worry about.  The diadem still hadn’t shown back up.  He wondered if its magic had been thoroughly drained just by showing himself to Harry and since Voldemort had hidden it away, there was no way to recharge it.  Which meant he was on his own.

He had to do research foremost.  He wasn’t even sure what a horcrux was beyond what Voldemort had called the diadem, and the diadem had told him that there were more than one he had to find. 

The diadem must know what the others were.  He had mentioned a diary, and Harry had a suspicion that the others were inanimate objects as well.

Harry had just been about to fall asleep when he felt it. 

Scales slithering against his bare feet underneath the covers.  He barely was able to withhold a scream, and he grabbed his wand, lighting the dark room with a whispered _lumos_.

A snake was in front of him, the head tilted to the side and regarding Harry thoughtfully.

“ _Curious_ ,” it hissed, drawing chills down his spine.  “ _You feel like Master_.”

He could understand it – or her, considering how her voice had a distinct female quality to it.  He hadn’t known he could do so, but since his soul was linked to Voldemort’s, he wasn’t particularly surprised. 

“ _He hasn’t told you?_ ” he tried, and although he was almost certain he was speaking English, recognition sparked in the giant snake’s eyes.  “ _We’re soulmates_.”

“ _You are the new consort,”_ answered the snake.

He flushed at the snake’s blunt words, and because of his paleness and the harsh light of his _lumos_ , the snake obviously noticed.

She slithered closer, feeling more comfortable now that she knew what was going on, and as she got closer, her scales were illuminated by his magic.

He gasped.

The snake lifted her head, sensing his distress.

And as she did, Harry saw more.  Her own magic clouded the pure, shimmering white a bit, but it was still clear to him.  A piece of Voldemort’s soul resided in her.

He had made his own snake, possibly his familiar, into a _horcrux_.  It took him a while to gather his thoughts, because it was one thing to put a piece of your soul into an inanimate object, and another to put it into a _living_ thing.  Because even if the snake was magical, she couldn’t outlive Voldemort, which would render her as a Horcrux useless.  It didn’t make sense.

“ _What is the matter?”_ hissed the snake, and he yelped in surprise as the snake slithered even closer, her large head pushing him down as she laid down on him.  “ _Your heartbeat is elevated_ ,” she stated, obviously expecting a response.

“ _You feel like Master, too,”_ he said helplessly, wracking his brain for a way to make her understand.

Her tongue flickered out in response, and he knew she didn’t understand him. 

“ _Master’s split his soul into pieces,”_ he struggled to explain, “ _and he’s put one of them into you_.”

She swiveled, her head facing backwards so she could see her body.  “ _Yes,_ ” the snake said eventually.  “ _He did it the year we won the War.  But why are you so worried?”_

“ _Does it hurt?”_ he asked, a frown on his face.  “ _How did he put his soul in you?”_

 _“It does not,”_ said the snake.  “ _I do not know the ways of humans, child.”_

He grimaced at what she called him, but pressed on, knowing not to fight battles that he would never win.  “ _The ripping of his soul broke him_ ,” he said, “ _I can see it.”_

The snake flickered its tongue once more, “ _I can see you are not lying._ ”

“ _Magic?”_ he asked, curious.

“ _I am a snake_ ,” she said, as if that explained everything, and perhaps it did.  “ _You must heal him, child.”_

 _“How?”_ he blurted out, before he could stop himself. 

The snake regarded him silently, and for some reason he felt the same as he did back in the prison with the diadem. 

“ _You must_ , _child_ ,” she said, her words brooking no room for argument, and Harry bowed his head. 

“ _I will_ ,” he promised, and then bit his lip to withhold sound as Nagini laid her giant head back down on him.

“ _Now sleep_ ,” the snake hissed.  “ _You cannot win against Master without sleep_.”

“ _Good night_ ,” he said, and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

It wasn’t very romantic.

They were sitting at a long table, Snape and Bellatrix hovering to the side.  Bellatrix was glaring at Harry, but since this was nothing new, and since Harry was almost certain that the witch was insane, he ignored it.  Every part of him wanted to insist that Ron and Hermonie be there with him, but he knew better than to do so.  He would never bring his best friends into this mess; it was better if Voldemort believed his ties to them were flimsy and weak and to keep his attention away from them until he fixed the Dark Lord’s soul.

There was a contract in front of him.  He had read it twice already, doing his best to memorize it, and was now currently staring at the dotted line.  A quill was next to the scroll of parchment, and he picked it up, nervously playing with the feather as he dithered on what to do next.

He glanced up, looking directly into Voldemort’s eyes.  Voldemort didn’t seem impatient; in fact, his hands were crossed almost casually as he stared at Harry.  Nagini rested upon his shoulders, and as he watched, she flickered her tongue out in acknowledgement.

That cemented his decision.  He had to help get the Horcrux out of her after all; he had made a promise just last night.  And besides, there was no way out of this.

He signed it with a flourish, making the J in James extra loopy.

It took immediately, magic from the scroll lifting off the parchment and enveloping him in golden light.  He gasped, but it went unheard as the magic sank into his skin.

He felt dizzy for a split second, the bright light making spots dance in his eyes.   There was cooling magic immediately settling down on him, and when it cleared the pain in his head, Voldemort was looking at him, the wand in his hand telling Harry that it was his new husband who had taken pity on him.

“Thanks,” he said, when the silence stretched on too long, and just because he could, added a, “Darling.”

Voldemort didn’t remark on his words, instead standing and making his way over to Harry.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both Bellatrix and Snape depart from the room.  It made his heart spike, but Voldemort didn’t seem angry with him.  Voldemort withdrew a key and placed it down onto the table in front of him.  

“Are you giving me access to your Gringrott’s Vault?” he asked, quietly, and Voldemort chuckled.

“Don’t be silly, love.  This is yours.”

He reached out with shaky fingers, and gingerly traced the Potter crest.  It was definitely his.  He didn’t even know he still had a Vault.  Some anger flared up at him in that, knowing that Voldemort had this the whole time and had kept it from him _grated_. 

“I want access to yours then,” he snapped, and Voldemort laughed, probably already guessing that Harry was upset with him.

“We can visit my Vaults after, dear.  Do you want to see what your parents left you?”

He wondered why Voldemort was being so amicable.  He glanced up at his husband, frowning as he searched Voldemort’s face for clues.  There must be something in his Vault that Voldemort wanted.  Something he wouldn’t have been able to access since the goblins were notoriously neutral in wizarding matters.  Even if Voldemort had taken over Wizarding Society, there had been no way to force the goblins to do something that went against their beliefs.

“I’m not eighteen yet,” he pointed out.  “Can I access the main vaults?”

“You’re married,” explained Voldemort. 

He was silent for a bit, thinking of the phrasing he wanted to use.  In the end, he decided to be blunt.  Voldemort wouldn’t kill him now, Bellatrix and Snape already witnessed their ‘marriage’ and Voldemort still needed him.  “What do you need from my Vault?”

“Smart,” murmured Voldemort, and he patted Harry’s shoulder.  “Yet, I can take you there by force, Harry.  I don’t have to answer any of your questions.”

He scowled, and Voldemort looked smug.  He held out his arm, and Harry took it because Voldemort wasn’t wrong.  Harry still had no power here.  He had to pick his battles carefully.

He had never been in Gringrott’s before.  The bank was beautiful on the inside, and the goblin that accompanied them down to the vaults was reticent.  He didn’t seem very happy to be the one chosen to accompany them down to the Potter Vault.

Harry wondered if he was doing a disservice to his family by letting Voldemort go to his Vault.  But he had no choice.  He couldn’t fight Voldemort even if he wanted to.  And besides, Voldemort was his soul mate, and now they were married.  His ancestors couldn’t begrudge him that when Voldemort and he shared a soul.

The goblin stayed in the cart as Harry and the Dark Lord made their way toward the entrance to his Vault.  The doors were heavy as Harry pushed them open, and Harry briefly lost his breath as the Vault was slowly revealed.

It was beautiful inside.  There were countless heirlooms, piles of gold, and even tapestries that unfurled and covered up a single wall.  He wandered in, and when Voldemort followed, the huge door swung shut after them.

He didn’t wait for Voldemort, instead walking toward the tapestries.  He could feel the magic emanating from them, and he craned his head upward, scanning his lineage.  He knew who his parents were, of course, but he hadn’t been well versed on the rest of the Potter family.  Since his whole family was dead, and none of his parents’ friends had survived the war with Voldemort, he didn’t know much about them. 

“Your parents were fine wizards.”

He didn’t look at Voldemort, his eyes resolutely on the tapestry in front of him.  Was Voldemort trying to –

Voldemort sounded _guilty_.  He had never ever imagined Voldemort could sound like that. 

“I’m sorry the Wizarding Society has lost them,” Voldemort said. 

“If they were here,” Harry interrupted, turning to look up at Voldemort, “I wouldn’t be your Consort.”

“Even if you believe us to be soulmates?”

He shrugged, “We were on opposite sides during the war.  And my family was predominately Light.  I can’t imagine it to have ended well.”

Voldemort hummed in agreement, before abruptly turning, leaving Harry to contemplate the tapestry.  Harry didn’t follow the Dark Lord, knowing that if Voldemort needed him, the other wizard would come get him.

They must have spent an hour in there.  Harry had gotten bored of staring at the tapestry and had moved on to look at other things.  He had just been examining an interesting heirloom, when he heard a soft sigh coming from his husband.

He stood immediately, making his way over to him.

Voldemort was holding a scroll, not unlike the one Harry had just signed earlier in the day.  He was frowning, and when Harry approached, he looked up. 

There was a shimmery cloth over Voldemort’s arm, and he was only able to spot it because Voldemort had it scrunched up.  Part of it was invisible, rendering Voldemort’s arm invisible as well. 

He was also holding a wand that wasn’t his own, and Voldemort held it out to him, handle first.

“Your father’s,” he explained, quietly.

He took it, feeling the magic reach out to his own.  It wasn’t as familiar as his own, but he knew he would be able to use it if he was in a pinch.

“Did we come here for this?”

“No,” said Voldemort, looking disgruntled.  He pocketed the scroll, and then held out the cloak.  “This is an invisibility cloak.  It’ll come in handy later.”

“You’re…giving it to me?” he asked, slowly, and Voldemort shrugged.

“My disillusionment charm will render it useless.  It’ll be more useful with you.”

“I can run away with this,” he couldn’t stop himself from pointing out.

Voldemort chuckled, “Right, and will you, darling?”

“No,” he said, eventually, and Voldemort shot him a smug grin before leading them out of Gringrott’s.

* * *

He heard the crooning that night.

The voice brought a smile to his face; he had been hoping to hear it.  He got out of bed, taking the Invisibility Cloak Voldemort had given him earlier that day.  The soft quality of it had his heart beating faster; just remembering that Voldemort had given it to him was making his stomach do flips and turns.

He ignored it though, throwing it over himself and following the voice.

He wondered why he was just hearing it now.  This was his fifth night in Malfoy Manor, and possibly his last.  They were going to move to Voldemort’s Manor after tonight.

But he didn’t question it, knowing with his heart that he was following the right sound.  A possibility of a trap didn’t even cross his mind as he continued to take the twists and turns of the Manor.

He ended up at a safe, obviously safeguarding the horcrux.  He reached out a hand, pressing his hand against the safe and wondering how he was to get it open.

He needn’t have worried.  It clicked open at his touch, and the blinding white of the pure part of Voldemort’s soul was all he could see.  This time, the emotions didn’t overwhelm him and he was able to reach in and pick up the diary easily.

White tendrils of the soul also latched onto him, refusing to let go.  He smiled, and then whirled as light filled the dim room.

Draco Mafloy was standing in front of him, his wand in his outstretched hand, the tip of the wand glowing bright.

They stared in silence, and then Malfoy huffed, waving his hand.  The lights clicked on and he lowered his wand.  “You’re trespassing, Potter,” he said, but he didn’t do anything hostile toward Harry.  Instead, he walked closer, studying the diary in Harry’s hand with clear interest.

Then he grabbed a book from one of the many shelves in the room, transfiguring it to match the diary that Harry still held in his hand.  He opened the safe, placing the diary back in and locking it back up with a series of wand flicks.

“What’s your plan?” he asked.

“Plan?” he echoed, stalling as he tried to figure out what Malfoy was playing at.

Malfoy stared at him, and then recognition dawned in his eyes.  “Of course,” he said, quietly.  And then he gestured at the diary.  “You’re not the only one who wants him gone, Potter.  Talk to Snape.”

“I’m not – I don’t want him _gone_ ,” he protested, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Are you daft, Potter?  He’s destroying the Wizarding Society, and losing his magic all at once.  Someone has to put him in his place, and you have a duty.”

“A duty to who?  The wizarding world that has done nothing for me?” he asked, a hint of anger seeping through, and Malfoy actually rolled his eyes at him.

“Stop playing, Potter.  You know exactly what I mean.  Send Snape an owl, okay?  He’ll explain everything.”

He left without waiting for a response from Harry, one wave from his hand sending the room back into darkness.

He stood there for a while, before throwing the Invisibility Cloak back over himself.  Malfoy was so _confusing_ , Harry was absolutely sure he had never even talked to the prat before this and yet here he was, making multiple demands and cryptic remarks for no reason.

Still, Malfoy had helped him and had silenced the alarm the safe had set off.  He couldn’t be too angry.  Perhaps Malfoy had been brainwashed by Snape and had been trying to trick him to give the Horcrux back to Snape.  He wouldn’t put it past his corrupt Headmaster.

He was worried about one thing though.  He knew that Voldemort’s soul was black and broken and ripped, but he had been unaware that the whole of the wizarding population also thought the same.  It put Voldemort’s tenuous position as leader into an even more precarious situation. 

He knew that he could destroy the soul Voldemort had put inside the diary.  He knew that if he wanted to, he could find the pieces of Voldemort’s soul and destroy them.  But they were calling out to him.  They believed he could help save them, and no matter how much Harry distrusted Voldemort or how much he was sure his parents would be rolling over in their graves knowing he was currently Consort to the Dark Lord, he couldn’t betray them like that.

There was more than one way to win a War. 

Killing Voldemort was one thing.  If they succeeded, it would throw the country into an even greater turmoil.  They had just recently stabilized after the first war, what would it be like trying to find another to take Voldemort’s place?   And who would they even appoint?  The most powerful Light leader that could have taken over was _dead_.   Almost all of the Order of the Phoenix were dead as well. 

And he shuddered to think of the day _Snape_ took over.  He was already a horrible Headmaster; if he was the Leader of the Wizarding Society, he was sure they would be found out by the Muggles in seconds.

And while Voldemort was insane, and crazy, and possibly evil, he was still the only thing standing between them and the Muggles.  They couldn’t possibly think overthrowing Voldemort was a good idea.

So, fixing Voldemort was really the only situation they could take.  If they could just get Voldemort sane again, and his magic back to the way it was rumored to be, then they could take out the Muggles once and for all.

He snuck back into his room, not bothering to turn on the lights and throwing off the Invisibility Cloak onto the chair in front of the vanity.  He settled down on the bed, kicking off his slippers, and getting comfortable again.  He hadn’t bothered to get dressed before running after the Horcrux, and he felt a little embarrassed thinking Malfoy had seen him in his pajamas.

The diary was still stuck to him, and he stared at his hand, wondering just how he was going to fall asleep with a book stuck to him.

He was just in the process of trying to transfer the book to his chest so he could finally go to sleep, when the same boy from earlier appeared in front of him. 

He was younger than the Diadem, but no less striking.  He had the same tousled hair and intelligent eyes, and Harry hid his smile as the horcrux took his hand into his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” said the horcrux, and then he bent, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hand.

Harry flushed, but the horcrux didn’t let go, instead adjusting his grip so it was even tighter. 

“Um,” he stammered under the force of the attention, “me, too.  I mean, I’m glad I was able to find you.”

There was a small smirk on the other’s face, “You, find me?  You mean you finally opened your ears and _listened_.”

Harry couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his face; trust every part of Voldemort’s soul to be downright _irritating_.  “Ears don’t open,” he pointed out, petulantly, and knew he deserved it when the horcrux threw his head back and laughed gleefully.

“You’re _adorable_ ,” said the horcrux when he calmed down enough, and Harry didn’t move as he used his free hand to cup Harry’s right cheek.  “It’ll be an honor to join with you.”  It happened too fast for him to do anything, because for the second time in a week, his lips were occupied by another’s.

It was only for a few seconds and then there was a flash and the horcrux was gone.  The diary was still on his chest, but when he looked down on it, the soul in it was gone.  And he knew what the Diary had said was true. 

It had joined with him.

In retrospect, it made sense.  He couldn’t actively keep the horcrux without Voldemort finding out and possibly taking it back.  This was the best recourse. 

But for some reason, as he looked down at the empty diary, he felt wistful.

It was a glimpse of what a sane Voldemort could be.  And he wanted it more than he ever wanted anything.

 


End file.
